


A Wild Goose Carol

by Annemarie01



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Family, Humor, Seasonal, Sex, Stress, a lost person, a lot of running around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-05 19:23:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12800682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annemarie01/pseuds/Annemarie01
Summary: What happens when the Champion of Kirkwall goes missing? A lot of fuss, that's what. Her friends don't hesitate to turn the place upside-down, with all the confusing consequenses that entails. Even the norotious Carta and Coterie can't escape their frantic efforts. One friend in particular (guess who!) is desperately set on finding her.Some kind of alternative Holiday story.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Since in the world of Dragon Age there exists no such thing as Christmas, apparently, I chose Frist Day as a symbol for the Holidays. 
> 
> So, light the candles, cut the turkey (or tofu), pour a glass of good wine and enjoy!

A Wild-Goose Carol part one

-

Before Hawke had reached the end of the steps, she heard the sturdy oaken door fall shut behind her back. Immediately after that, sounding like black doom itself, the heavy iron bolt on the other side clicked into place. With a bout of panic she let the lantern she was carrying drop; the open copper lamp made a dull clinking sound when it hit the stairs and tumbled down the stone slabs. And, of course, the candle it was holding extinguished.

In the sudden darkness, that engulfed her like the opposite of the fires of hell but with the same near suffocating dread, Hawke stumbled over the last step. With a crash she collapsed on the hard floor, bruising her knees and her hands along the way. She cursed out loud. She wasn’t exactly afraid of the dark, but this pitch-black darkness that was almost tangible made her feel very uncomfortable. Her heart was racing. She breathed in the mouldy air with great gasps until she had calmed down somewhat and her heart wasn’t racing with the speed of a prize-winning racehorse anymore.

_Wonderful. What now?_

Instinctively she scrambled onto her feet and tried, carefully shuffling with outstretched arms, to find a wall to lean against. The vast space made her feel like she was floating in the Void and she needed an anchor. After a few wavering steps she abruptly quit her daft action. _Idiot_ , she chastised herself, _leave the walls for later and_ _first_ _get that candle and go look for some matches_. Great idea. Where to find those? She got down on her knees again and fumbled for the dropped lantern, or better for the treasure it had held. She felt silly, crawling on all fours, but finally her fingers touched the lantern and, not moments later, found the candle that hadn’t rolled that far away. With force she folded her fingers around it, as if it was her last line of defence, or her lifeline. Frankly, right now, it came down to exactly that. She sat up, with her trophy clamped in her hand.

 _Good. Candle retrieved. Now go for something to light it with._ She puffed out some air. _I have to get out of here before it is too late._

-

Bodahn stepped into the Hanged Man and wrinkled his nose at the characteristic smell of the establishment. With serious difficulty he pushed his way through the vast throng of patrons until he had reached Varric’s suite. The Storyteller looked up from the notebook he had been scribbling in and stared surprised at Hawke’s steward. ‘Bodahn! What brings you here?’

They other dwarf cleared his throat while trying not to breathe in too deep. ‘I, er, I was wondering if you know where Messere Hawke is..?’ He looked around. ‘Seeing as she isn’t here?’ He seemed to sag with disappointment. Or even with some despair.

Varric frowned. ‘Hawke? As far as I know she’s at home, but since you’re asking about her, I suppose she isn’t.’

‘No, she is not. Even though she promised to decorate the house with Orana and me this evening.’ He looked very concerned. ‘Sandal is quite disappointed.’ He threw the remark in as some kind of bonus, as if trying to trigger Varric’s attention some more.

Varric, on his turn, put down his quill and leant back in his chair, taking in Bodahn’s dismally expression. If the steward had gone as far as to conquer the dark streets of Lowtown, he must feel extremely bothered. The least he could do was to take him seriously. ‘When was the last time you saw her?’

Bodahn rose to the opportunity and grabbed his chance to awake the Storyteller’s interest even further. ‘This afternoon. I took Orana and Sandal to the market to buy the last supplies for the holidays. You know, to beat the crowd before they fill the shops on the last opportunity before First Day, and at the same time Messere Hawke went to pick up her new dress.’

‘And she hasn’t returned,’ Varric assumed, still not exactly understanding the sincerity of the situation.

Hawke’s steward nervously wriggled his fingers. ‘She did return. I’ve seen the dress she put on a coat-hanger in her bedroom, but after that she apparently disappeared once more and she hasn’t returned yet. It’s way past nine bells in the evening! To be honest, Messere Varric, I’m worried sick. She always keeps her promises.’

Varric already opened his mouth to tell Bodahn there probably was a perfectly reasonable explanation why she hadn’t returned yet from whatever errand she was running or person she was visiting, but at the same time thought the better of it. It _was_ strange. Hawke indeed always kept her promises and the only real explanation she hadn’t this time was, he feared, she was in trouble. But there was no need to kindle the steward’s anxiety even more; he looked enough on the brink of bursting into hysterics as it was. ‘Just you go home, Bodahn and let me handle this. I’m sure I’ll find her in no time.’

But no sooner Bodahn had turned his back, or Varric was already banging on Isabela’s door. The first place he wanted to visit was Fenris’s. He wasn’t certain at all if the elf knew where Hawke was hanging out, not after what had happened, but he could use his assistance if things went pear shaped. If Bodahn wasn’t overreacting, against all odds. One never should overlook the value of a menacing sword. But no way he would venture there alone, what with the aggravated mood the elf undoubtedly was still in. The menacing sword could work against him. And, besides that, it could be well possible he would feel a hand through his chest before he could have uttered a word to make an appeal on that infamous blade. Isabela’s daggers and casual, though steadfast appearance could come in handy.

-

Fenris was restlessly pacing his room in the half ruined mansion. He was extremely angry with himself; he had been acting like a complete idiot – again. He had stood yelling at the only person who cared about him and, when it came down to it, the only person he cared about himself. Way to go.

Without any hesitation Hawke had gone with him to meet his sister, although she was, just like him, afraid it would be a trap. And when the encounter turned out to be that very feared trap, she, again without hesitation, determinedly had positioned herself between him and Danarius. She had forcefully defied his former master, with her head held high told the magister with angry words and matching flaming eyes where to go off. Had told him he, Fenris, was certainly no pet and absolutely no slave but a free man and belonged to no-one but himself. She was the one who had shaken him out of the stupor that had threatened to overwhelm him. He wouldn’t have been able to face and defeat Danarius without her.

And yet, after it was done and he, at any rate theoretically, had been freed from the last shackles that had bound him to his past, he had without a word stormed out of the Hanged Man. Had even, and that was the worst part, lashed out to her and practically chased her away when she, that same night, had come to see if he was all right.

Why, for heaven’s sake had he done that? What had he been thinking? He screwed his eyes shut and clenched his fists. He had _not_ been thinking, that was the problem. He had done the lashing out pure out of some old and hard-to-beat instinct. It had nothing to do with misplaced pride, about that he was certain. Yes, he had been angry, at first at least, that she had prevented him of killing his sister. But that hadn’t been the reason either. She had been right about that; killing Varania wouldn’t have given him the freedom of mind he craved for. It would just have been a petty act of empty misplaced vengeance. By now he was certain he would have regretted it the moment he would have torn his sister’s heart out.

He shook his head in impotent fury. He knew what the issue was. He had always thought that finishing his master off would settle the matter, but of course he should have known better. The death of Hadriana had only made things worse. How could he have ever believed the death of Danarius would solve all of his problems?

The confrontation with the Tevinter Magister had come as a shock beyond compare. Even though he had more or less expected it, almost foreseen it. Even though –  he gritted his teeth forcefully – he had for crying out loud _braced_ himself against the inevitable. It definitely had brought out the worst in him. All kinds of gruesome memories had been swirling through his mind ever since. All the memories he had cast into a silent corner of his mind had raised their hideous heads to pester him.

No, he hadn’t been able to think clearly but that was no excuse for his behaviour. He had been shouting she didn’t understand anything of his suffering, nothing of the sudden emptiness that had come over him, the black pit that threatened to suck him in. But though the pit might be black, it wasn’t empty – Maker he wished it were! Instead it pulled at him with those dreadful images of his dark past. That made it even worse. And that had been the reason why he had been shouting: to drown out the whispers, the voices, the desperate screams that had haunted him for so many years and that, so unexpectedly, had crawled out of their feeble prison to make clear they weren’t defeated as yet. He had been shouting to shut them out. And he had been yelling at her as if it was her fault his former master had turned up, as if she was to blame for his misery. As if she was the cause of this tormenting turmoil raging in his head. Again he cringed in remorse.

The past days he had been trying to write a letter to apologize to her and the efforts were now strewn around him in the form of crumpled up balls of paper. He absolutely couldn’t find the right words to express his regret. With a frustrated growl he kicked one of the balls through the room and at the same moment Varric and Isabela entered.

The dwarf look intrigued around. ‘This is the first time I see more paper than bottles scattered on the floor,’ he commented. ‘What have you been up to?’

Fenris scowled menacingly at him. ‘That’s none of your business.’ At the same time he realised Varric had been present at the distressing events in the Hanged Man and he didn’t doubt for a second the dwarf understood more than he was willing to admit. At least not at this moment. He must know of his idiotic behaviour towards Hawke. And so he braced himself for the next, undoubtedly painful, witty comment.  

But Varric came to the point without further ado. ‘You’re right and it doesn’t matter anyhow. Hawke’s missing.’ This was so unlike him that it only emphasized the gravity of the matter.

The elf grew rigid in an instant. He felt his heart grow cold. Hoarsely he said, ‘What do you mean, “missing”?’

Varric snorted disdainfully. ‘Hard to get, is it? I mean “missing” as in vanished in thin air, disappeared like snow in summer, evaporated like dew on a hot day, dissolved like paint in turpentine. Must I go on? Or would you prefer I’d draw you a picture? There’re lying enough sheets of paper about.’ Since Fenris was scowling at him right now as if he was trying to rip his heart out with a livid glare instead of his spiked gauntlet, he continued hastily, ‘Bodahn came to the Hanged Man to tell me Hawke has left her home late in the afternoon and hasn’t returned yet.’

Fenris allowed himself to heave a sigh of relief. Hawke always went her own way; at best she would tell her servants she wouldn’t be home for dinner. Undoubtedly both Varric and Bodahn were exaggerating. So he didn’t look convinced when he said, ‘Perhaps she went to visit someone –‘

He got immediately cut short by Varric. ‘According to Bodahn she has promised to decorate the house far earlier this day.’

The impact of the word “promise” hit home the very instant. Just like everyone else, Fenris knew how much keeping her promises meant to Hawke. He grabbed the back of a chair because his knees suddenly went very weak.

‘I see you understand what I’m trying to make clear,’ Varric remarked dryly. Secretly he was relieved the ripping-hearts-out part was postponed, at least for the moment and, far importantly, he felt relieved that specific part was not aimed at him. But no way he would show it. It would ruin his reputation as the cool and collected Storyteller.

‘We have to find her,’ said Fenris with a quivering voice, oblivious of  Varric’s secret thoughts. He was suddenly afraid he had done even more harm with his tongue-lashing than he already thought. What if she had decided to flee this city, to turn her back on him, to turn her back on everything that – He got interrupted by Isabela before his thoughts got the chance to definitely run amok.

‘I completely agree, honeycomb. Any suggestions about where to go searching?’ the pirate queen informed somewhat sarcastically. ‘It’s not that she has a lack of enemies.’

_Enemies.…_

Fenris stared at the pirate and felt his worries shift. Enemies ... that put things in a whole different perspective, and not at all a better one. With force he pulled himself together; this was not the time to whine over his mistakes. Yes, it could well be Isabela had hit a dangerous spot and Hawke had been captured by one of her many enemies. She had plenty of those. If that were the case, they had to act immediately. His blood started pumping and the adrenaline almost made him combust. His markings lighted up.              

‘We will start with the Carta,’ he had said determinedly, with a sudden flash of remembrance grasping a piece of recent history. ‘I can’t imagine they harbour warm feelings for her, not after the business in the Vimmark Mountains. It could well be they are behind her disappearance.’

‘Brilliant idea,’ Isabela scoffed, not in the least intimidated by his blue light. Secretly she was still contemplating if he bought his underwear in matching colours. ‘We and what army?’

Varric pinched the bridge of his impressive nose. ‘I think the elf is right, Rivaini. The Carta, just as the Coterie, always know what’s going on in this blasted city. It could well be they know where she is, even if they have nothing to do with it. Fenris is right. That damned Vimmark business could very well play a significant part. Dwarfs going on a rampage ... always tricky. Short bodies having long arms, and such.’

There glowed a dangerous light in Fenris’s eyes. He reached for his sword sitting on the weapon rack. ‘Let’s waste no time and go right now.’

‘And again, we and what army?’ repeated Isabela with irritated emphasis.

Varric looked up at the both of them, grimacing painfully. ‘Let’s pay the Merchant Guild a visit first. If it puts your minds at ease, despite my aversion to the greedy bastards, I maintain my contacts with them. Close ones, to be frank. If only to know what they’re up to and to avoid unwanted and nasty surprises.’ He closed his eyes and groaned. ‘Who would have thought the Merchant Guild would one day come in handy. Ancestors preserve me.’

-


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The search starts in earnest and one dwarf in particular is not happy. Surprisingly his name isn't Varric.
> 
> Enjoy!

A Wild-Goose Carol part two

-

Hawke leant her forehead against the slab of thick wood. She wanted to kick herself. She had pummelled the door till her fists were bruised and shouted her voice to shreds but, of course, no one had heard her. The cellar lay behind the pantry that, on its turn, was situated behind the kitchen. In short, quite a long way from the actual house. And besides that, the door was too thick and too robust to let sounds through. How could she have been so stupid as to let the bloody thing slip? She only had wanted to fetch the last bottles of wine for the celebration of First Day. Or better, a few bottles of port to go with the dessert. Bodahn had already taken care of the wine.

She had been in a hurry and had not taken the time to put the wedge into place to prevent the door from falling shut. It was a precaution they had started to take up after Sandal accidentally had locked himself in. She bloody well knew the stupid door had the tendency to close on its own account. And even so she now, in all her haste, had made a prison of her own cellar. Because trying to escape through the other entrance, the entrance leading to the Undercity, was of even less use than trying to bust this one open; Anders had sealed that door with a solid ward. Even if she had been a mage, she wouldn’t have been able to break that particular seal. It was some kind of his own very personal signature, as far as she understood. No way would she be able to find her way out through there. She picked up the dented lantern and descended the stairs once more.

She had not only been in a hurry but had been distracted as well. With a deep sigh she sank down on the floor and blew out the candle. She had found a box of matches, conveniently lying on a shelf next to the stairs, but not the stack of fresh candles she was convinced should be lying around somewhere. As long as she hadn’t located those, she had to be cautious not to burn up the one she had too quickly. She folded her arms around her pulled up legs and buried her face into her knees.

Distracted. That was one way to put it.

She had been worried sick about the way Fenris had taken the fight against his former master and, moreover, the death of that sleazy bastard. And, perhaps even more important, how he had handled the betrayal of his sister. She snorted derisively, bravely keeping the tears at bay.

He had recognised the red-haired bitch the very moment he spotted her in the Hanged Man. The same sister that belonged to the memories he had left her for, three years ago. The same wicked twat that had been willing to turn him in, who had brought that creepy monster with her to drag her elf back to Minrathous. She shivered. She knew by now that vile witch was a part of his unexpected turning up and just as unexpected fleeting recollections; she had seen his eyes open wide with sudden remembrance. With exaltation even. Exaltation that had, not a moment later, drowned in despair and unbelief. She still didn’t comprehend what had made her stay his hand when he had wanted to kill her. Yes, the image of her own brother being crushed by that ogre still haunted her. As did, even more so, the memory of being forced to kill her beloved sister in those cursed Deep Roads. Even now both occurrences disturbed her dreams on a regular basis. She had wanted to spare him that feeling of guilt. After Varania’s last words, though, she had had to dip into all her reserves of self-control to refrain from pouncing upon the ungrateful woman herself.

“ _You got the better end of the bargain_.”

Those words still infuriated her. The serpent really didn’t understand anything about her brother’s sacrifice, about his struggles and the excruciating pain he had endured and, even worse, evidently didn’t _want_ to understand. She just wallowed in self-pity and had only wished to wound her brother some more before she fled the scene. To give him a final devastating blow, after her devilish scheme had gone wrong. By now she wished she had finished her off herself.

She made a face. Excellent First Day sentiments. On the other hand, understanding and forgiveness could only go that far.

She could comprehend the words Fenris had thrown at her when she had come to him that same night, although they had hurt her deeply. She tried very hard to appreciate that the things he had said weren’t aimed at her but at his own grief. At the feelings Danarius had stirred up and the poisonous words Varania had spoken. Nevertheless, it _had_ hurt her. She took a shivering breath and reached for the matches. She had to find a way out of here before the darkness would consume her.

-

Fergon Bhelarson had never encountered an elf in the flesh before. That was to say, he saw enough of their kind scurrying around here in the Undercity, where the Carta had their headquarters. But those were pathetic harmless creatures that he as much avoided as the rats that infested the place. They didn’t bear any resemblance whatsoever to the elf who, without any hesitation or explanation at all, pushed a sharp gauntleted hand through his chest and was now close to murdering him. He stared wide-eyed at the white-haired apparition and tried not to overstrain his lungs. He felt the sharp talons closing around his heart and knew he was just a beat away from death. It didn’t help the same apparition was surrounded by an eerie blue light.

‘In case you wonder why we come barging in uninvited, we’re just looking for some information,’ a well-known and not at all welcome voice floated through the air. ‘And we want to make certain you will comply. Please, Fenris, I think you’ve made our point. You’d better let him go before he chokes.’

The next moment Bhelarson felt a gush of oxygen enter his tortured lungs and he fell on his knees. ‘Varric,’ he managed with great difficulty, ‘what, by the Stone –‘

‘Let’s forgo the pleasantries, shall we,’ Varric cut the wheezing dwarf short. ‘We just want to know what happened to the Champion.’

The Caput of the Carta stared up and looked at the stern face through bleary eyes. ‘What?’

The tall lanky elf might have removed his armoured hand, but now stood glaring at him with crossed arms and a look upon his face that promised much worse if he didn’t cooperate. And next to him he noticed the notorious Storyteller but, to his dread, not only him. Varric was the practically legendary dwarf who had made the journey from Orzammar to Topside without as much as a flinch, and had taken his silent but most significant place beside his bloating brother. His very dead brother, Bhelarson remembered all too well. And, even more important, he was the same notorious dwarf who had travelled through the Deep Roads, and had not only survived that enterprise but had come back as a rich man; the one Topsider that was a Paragon all but in title.

But he also became aware of a crowd of Guild members who could make his life a living hell. They all glowered at him as if he hadn’t provided them with the goods that had made them wealthy dwarves. And besides all that, a woman rose above the crowd of his so-called brethren; a woman who was clad as a human whore but stared at him with the eyes of an assassin. He shivered once more.

He realised at this very moment that he might be a great name in this sinful city, but that that reputation was worth nothing without the silent approval of the Merchant Guild, who acted like a Top-side Assembly and, in fact, pulled all the strings regarding dwarven affairs. Including the more shady ones. And since the Guild was nothing without the same silent approval of the Storyteller, he knew his life was forfeit, though he couldn’t fathom why. He blinked and then clasped his hands. ‘Please, Varric,’ he tried desperately, ‘we have done nothing to harm the Champion. Why should we? There’s nothing profitable in harming her!’

The Storyteller gazed contemplatively at him. ‘Really? And what about the goings on in the Vimmark Mountains? You lot very hard tried to kill the Champion back there and in return she made minced meat of the gone crazy bastards. All members of your illustrious organisation, mind you. This could be payback. We both know how vindictive our kind can be.’

Fergon Bhelarson scrambled up and fervently fluttered his hands. ‘We had nothing to do with that! I swear! Those were a bunch of harebrained idiots that foolishly got involved with some unsavoury plot of Grey Wardens! You cannot really think we had a hand in it! What kind of earnings would that have brought us?!’ He felt the penetrating eyes of the other dwarf almost drill holes in his head.

Finally Varric seemed to come to a decision and nodded. ‘I’m willing to believe that – for the time being,’ he added in a dark tone. ‘But that doesn’t mean you can go on with your unholy enterprises unscathed. Unless...‘ He let the promise of a way out, evidently disguised as a threat, hover in the air.

‘Unless what?’ wavered Fergon Bhelarson.

Varric smiled unpleasantly. ‘Unless you and your men accompany us to the headquarters of the Coterie. To give us some leverage. Advantage of numbers and all that shit.’ The smile broadened to a wide mean grin. ‘We’ll frighten the living daylight out of their sorry arses. And I have no doubt that you, on your turn, want to kick the muck out of their innards.’

‘We have had some kind of truce or understanding for many a year,’ Fergon Bhelarson started his protest and then met the combined deadly gaze of the Paragon-all-but-in-title, the frightening elf, the tall terrifying human woman and the host of the Guild. All of them carrying scary large and very sharp weapons. He gave in. ‘Let’s go and frighten the living daylight – let’s go and do something,’ he mumbled, defeated.

-

Fenris grimaced. He hadn’t liked it at all to be used as the living weapon he had been created for. Once again it stirred up horrifying memories. On the other hand, he would have done anything to save Hawke.

He had agreed with Varric to use the Carta as a force against the Coterie. To start with the Guild, which had almost been a war on itself. Luckily Varric had turned out to be an authority on the association, and it became clear he had had much more dealings with the Guild over the past years than he had ever been willing to tell. For what reasons was anyone’s guess. The dwarf had looked sheepishly, even almost ruefully, at him and Isabela, and Fenris nearly had had to laugh at the mere sight. He knew about the reluctant feelings, to put it mildly, Varric harboured for the Guild.

But now push came to shove, it turned out he indeed was some kind of legend, if not a Paragon, as Isabela had insisted. A real authority. Someone the other dwarves were not only willing to listen to, but were willing to follow as well. It hadn’t taken him much effort to drag the members along with them. To be honest, he just had had to shout loud. For some reason or another, dwarves seemed likely to follow the bugger that had the strongest voice. And, yelling along the way, came up with the most overwhelming motive. And that motive, how surprising, happened to be profit. Varric had pointed out that by putting the Carta under pressure, the Guild would benefit greatly.

They all knew it was nonsense, but as long as they were caught in the enchantment Varric had accomplished to snare them in, it would work.

And, frankly, Fenris didn’t care one bit how the dwarf did it, what means they had to use. What means he himself had to use. If in the end he found Marian Hawke alive and whole, and could pull her into his arms and apologise to her for his stupid harsh words and all his equally stupid acts, he would be grateful.

And thus he had threatened the Caput of the Carta. And was now on his way to do the same to the Head of the Coterie. Everything for her.

-

Hawke remembered so very clear the lovely First Day celebrations they had had in Lothering, back in the day when they still were together as a family. The wonderful celebrations they had held with all the neighbours. At this very moment, sitting with her back against the cold unyielding wall she finally had found, she could feel the warm comforting fires and smell the roasted chestnuts and the fresh bread, and taste the simple but o so magnificent meals they had shared together. In her mind she could see the breathtaking star-sprinkled heavens they had looked at after the meals.

With a lump in her throat she recalled how she had felt like a fitting piece of the puzzle that was the community, the same community that had bid her and her family a warm welcome, despite they all knew her father was an apostate. Lothering had been a warm bath after a long travel that most of the time seemed more like a flight through an unforgiving chilly world. They had been thankful they had been allowed to settle down in this specific place. The inhabitants were graceful enough to accept a family of an apostate, moreover because the apostate was a mage who healed their wounds and treated their sicknesses. Who even healed the injuries of the Templars that were stationed in the small Chantry. And so those same Templars had turned a blind eye. In Lothering they finally had felt safe.

She remembered the grand tree in front of the Chantry. How everyone had decorated it, anticipating the most important night of the year, and had gathered around it at midnight to sing the hymn that welcomed the first day of the new year. For days she, and the ones of her age, had enthusiastically dragged dry logs and branches to the centre of the village to build the towering construction of wood that would burn throughout the night, until the light of First Day would come. They all had waited with excited anticipation for the village-elder to throw the flaming torch into the gathered wood and start the bonfire that would last until dawn. They had danced around it under the bright sky; the everlasting dance of the Lord of the Darkness and the Lady of the Light. An old tale that the Chantry of Lothering didn’t like but was willing to tolerate. A pagan tale that was very much loved.

At one of those remarkable nights she had lost her virginity. To a young Templar no less. She still didn’t regret it for one moment. They had been in love. Some kind of puppy love, she now recognized, but at the time it had been exciting and overwhelming. He had been as nervous and wound up as she had been. But, nevertheless and more important, at the same time he had been sweet and willing to go with her rhythm. He had never pushed her. They had created a magical moment together and had turned the night into one to remember. She carried very pleasant memories of that specific occasion.

Hawke clutched her legs with force and sobbed silently. Oh, how she longed to live those days once more. How she longed to be with both her parents, to be with her insufferable but at the same time loveable brother and childish but sweet sister. To be with all the villagers, to be with that young Templar, or, to be honest, preferably Fenris taking his place. To create a magical moment with him. She desperately longed for that simple, but oh so cherished life.

She didn’t know how much longer she could endure this darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I wrote this tale, I had to think of those nightmare stories about people trapped in elevators or underground car parks during Christmas. This is something like that, only Kirkwall style.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the search continues... Varric experiences his finest hour and he doesn't even realises it and Fenris becomes desperate.
> 
> Enjoy!

A Wild-Goose Carol part three

-

Vidar Harlan was, if possible, even more unpleasantly surprised than Fergon Bhelarson had already been. Especially because he was caught in the act, so to speak. He was having a very enjoyable time with a girl he had ordered from the Blooming Rose, the establishment he owned, after all. Enjoyable, that was, up until the moment a mass of dwarves came invading his bedroom. His very private bedroom. The girl he was with squeaked in panic and fled the bed to take refuge in a large cupboard.

(Only much later, when she deemed it safe again, she sneaked out of the place to turn home. With a quite interesting story. And, to her astonishment, with a little pouch filled with golden coins that was pushed into her hands when she left the premises. She was highly surprised but, then again, it _was_ First Day. Anything could happen.)

‘What is the meaning of this?’ the Head of the Coterie demanded to know with all the dignity he could muster, which wasn’t easy for a man dressed only in his bare skin.

Fenris considered it unnecessary to use his “talent” this time. Obviously the man was suffering enough as it was.

Like right now Harlan was staring into the face of a notorious deviously dwarf. ‘I notice you’re inspecting the merchandise. Always good to see a man who’s taking his job seriously,’ the dwarf commented deadpan. And everyone knew he was most dangerous at those times.

The Head of the Coterie drew himself up while he attempted to cover his naked body with a bedspread. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he barked irritably.

Not moments earlier the men who guarded the entrance to the building had asked the same question, just before they discovered they weren’t able to stop the swarm of dwarves that out of the sudden flooded the headquarters in the Docks.

‘I’ll make it brief because I can see you’re a busy man,’ Varric said carelessly, ‘just a simple inquiry.’ He paused a few moments for the effect. ‘Where is the Champion?’ There was no way he could have made a mere question sound more ominous, but Vidar Harlan acted unimpressed.  He just scowled at him.

‘And how the fuck am I suppose to know?!’

Varric caressed his beloved crossbow in a deceivingly casual way. It didn’t escape the Head of the Coterie but he pretended not to notice.  ‘Because _I_ know that _you_ know about everything that’s going on in this city.’

‘I was under the impression _you_ were the all-knowing one,’ Harlan bit back. The dwarf’s reputation was not only famous among the Merchant Guild and the Carta.

‘That might be,’ Varric nodded, assenting, ‘but I don’t bear a grudge against the Champion.’

‘And what makes you think _I_ do.’

‘She has thwarted you more than once,’ Varric replied, smiling at the memory.

‘Ah yes,’ mused Isabela, standing next to him, ‘good times. Such good times.’

‘What the lady means,’ Varric explained (Harlan winced at the word “lady”), ‘is that we wouldn’t put it past you that you finally decided to give her a payback. So, tell me. Where is she.’ This time it sounded like no question at all. This time it sounded like an outright threat. But still Harlan didn’t budge.

Fenris had to admit he admired the man. Harlan might be the leader of one of the two biggest criminal cartels in Kirkwall, right now he was surrounded by enemies while sitting naked in his bed and he couldn’t make an appeal on his men. But even so, he showed no fear whatsoever. Of course it was bluff, but first-rated bluff. Extraordinary.

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ he said haughtily. He looked and sounded convincing, at any rate convincing enough to persuade Varric.

The Top-side Paragon tapped his fingers on Bianca’s smooth rosewood stock and came to a conclusion. ‘Right,’ he said determinedly. ‘Then there’s only one option left.’

-

Fergon Bhelarson looked rather sheepishly at Vidar Harlan. ‘What the hell just happened?’

The Head of the Coterie looked back with slightly raised eyebrows. ‘You tell me. I believe this is more your area of expertise. You know him better than I do.’

In the meantime Harlan had donned a dressing gown and a pair of slippers, all manufactured out of costly materials, and had moved to his luxuriously furnished living room. All the way with a slightly off balanced Caput of the Carta in tow. He was loath to admit he more or less felt the same but did his utter best not to show it.

That he had chosen to live in the Docks, didn’t mean he had to share the poor conditions of the district. On the outside his residence might look like the average miserable dwelling in the harbour quarter, on the inside it turned out to be nothing less than a lavish palace. He offered Bhelarson a glass of exquisite whisky which the Caput gratefully accepted. He craved for a swig of strong liquor, after all that had occurred. They both sat down in the easy-chairs, positioned in front of the comforting fire in the large marble fire-place. The chairman of the Merchant Guild had already taken his leave, together with his associates. He had made it very clear, with his head held high and cursing in his beard, that he was not willing to burn his fingers more than was necessary to keep the Storyteller off his back.

Apparently the infuriating dwarf nicknamed the Storyteller, who was a Paragon of some sorts, if Harlan was to believe the stories of the Carta, had taken over without him or anyone else being able to do anything about it. Varric had ordered, stone-faced, both the edgy members of the Carta and the Coterie to start some kind of expedition to find the gone missing Champion. (Harlan had to grimace foully at the expression; fucking dwarves and their fucking Stone.)

_‘You know what to do, you lousy buggers, go look and comb the Undercity, the Docks and Lowtown. And don’t forget the attics and the cellars of the wealthy high-and-mighty in Hightown. I’m fairly certain you’re familiar with those.’_

And without any questions or protests, driven by instinct and the dwarf’s piercing glare and thunderous voice, both groups had bolted off to obey his orders. It had all happened so fast that Bhelarson and Harlan had been out of the play completely, hardly able to grasp what was going on. The moment it dawned on them someone else had taken temporarily command of their precious cartels, they were the only ones left in Harlan’s bedroom. In the midst of an imaginary whirl of dust.

‘He’s quite the plucky bloke, isn’t he,’ Harlan pondered, while waltzing the whisky in his glass around. He still felt a bit dazed.

Bhelarson snorted. ‘That’s one way to put it.’

‘How do you cope with him?’

‘We don’t. He just happens.’

‘And you let him happen,’ Harlan understood.

The dwarf looked uncomfortable. ‘We don’t seem to have a choice.’ After some reflection he added, ‘Frankly, we fear the outcome, should we try to rein him in. He could turn into a loose cannon. One with a small but near unbeatable army of very loyal friends to back him, which includes the Champion.’ He thought about that for a moment. ‘Who, evidently, has gone missing.’ He decided to let that problem go. Too complicated to take into consideration on this already complex night. ‘And with a large, be it somewhat obscure, host of informants to boot.’

‘I see.’ Harlan took a sip of his expensive drink and cleared his throat. He too didn’t want to broach the delicate matter of the lost Champion. He was certain it wasn’t his doing, but couldn’t completely answer for all of his men.  He deemed it safer to change subjects. ‘How, er, how is business these days?’

Bhelarson shrugged. ‘As good as can be expected, I suppose. You know the expression: could be better, could be worse. I take it it’s the same with you?’

Contemplatively Harlan filled up the empty glasses. ‘Indeed it is. Listen, I’ve been thinking...’ He cleared his throat once more and continued somewhat bashfully, ‘Well, I thought, er, I thought, perhaps it could be profitable to, you know, work together now and again..? To a certain degree, of course.’

Fergon Bhelarson, surprised but not unpleasantly so, cocked his head. ‘It’s surely something to take into consideration,’ he reacted cautiously.

‘Well, whatever the case, it’s almost First Day.’ Harlan smiled awkwardly. ‘Since you’re here anyway, let’s make the best of it.’

The Caput of the Carta looked up at the Head of the Coterie. He smiled back and heaved his glass. ‘To cooperation,’ he grinned.

‘To cooperation it is,’ Harlan replied.

And so, for the first time ever, Carta and Coterie celebrated First Day together. Due to a door fallen shut. And a loose cannon with a very big mouth.

-

The word “cellar”, uttered by Varric while he gave his instructions to the bewildered groups of thugs, kept nagging at Fenris’s mind for hours. He wasn’t aware of it at first, though, due to the disturbing thoughts already swirling through his head, taking up most of the space.

It was around midnight and they were all gathered in Varric’s suite. “All” meant the whole bunch. So this time it also included Aveline and her husband Donnic, Sebastian, Merrill and, to Fenris´s dismay, Anders. He hated the abomination who had tried so hard to win Marian over after that one wonderful and then completely gone awry night. The mage had made no secret of his feelings for Marian, nor of his efforts to lead her to his bed. That she hadn´t responded to his pleas and pathetic attempts didn´t do anything to ease Fenris´s mind, nor did it dampen his repulsion for the man.

The elf was restlessly pacing the room. He resembled a caged animal that stood on the brink of ripping its chains apart or gnawing a paw clean off. From the moment he had learned Hawke had gone missing, a small but persistent voice at the back of his mind had tried to tell him something he absolutely didn’t want to hear. But after neither the Carta and the Coterie nor they themselves had been able to find even the smallest trace of Hawke, that voice had rapidly become a roaring thunder. It was a thought so terrible that it almost deprived him of his sanity.

´By Andraste’s flaming knickers, Fenris,´ Varric irritably called out, ´please calm down, won’t you? You’re making me dizzy! We´re all concerned. We´re all trying to find a solution!´

Fenris turned violently, a sneer on his face. ´What if Danarius was not the only magister who came from Tevinter?´ he blurted out his burning fear. ´What if another magister followed him and has taken her? She is the Champion! A prize for every Tevinter mage!’

The assembly stared at him, shocked.

‘You’re not serious, are you?’ Anders mocked, shattering the sudden heavy atmosphere. ‘It sounds rather paranoid to me.’

‘Paranoid?!’ hissed Fenris heatedly, clenching his fists. ‘ _Paranoid_?!! It is clear you still don’t know, or better don’t _want_ to know, one bit about the ghastly methods of Tevinter magisters! They are capable of anything, just to obtain more power!’

‘Ah yes!’ Anders scoffed. ‘Here we go again! Apparently all that mages covet is power! It clearly possesses their whole mind!’

‘In my experience it does,’ Fenris bit back.

‘Stop it, you two,’ Aveline intervened sternly. ‘Bickering won’t bring Hawke back.’

The two sworn enemies kept glaring at each other until Isabela broke the strained silence. ‘Right,’ she said, too light-heartedly to sound convincing, ‘it seems we have to search the ships in the harbour.’

’You’re not really taking this outrageous brain-wave seriously?’ Anders incredulously cried out.

‘I said, _stop_ it!’ The Guard Captain raised her voice while she thumped the table.

‘I thought the Carta and Coterie went investigating the Docks,’ Donnic said, hesitantly. Askance he looked at Fenris. He could understand his friend’s feelings. If anything like this would happen to Aveline, he would turn Kirkwall upside down. Fenris might not have, in so many words, confided to him how much he felt for Hawke, in the way he looked at her, he didn’t have to. Donnic understood damn well he cared deeply for her. He gathered his courage and walked over to him. He laid a hand on his arm. ‘I understand how you’re feeling,’ he said silently. ‘Know I will do anything to find her.’

Fenris looked at him with such a tormented expression it almost knocked him off his feet. ‘I can’t stand this uncertainty,’ he croaked. ‘I want to know what happened to her.’

‘And we _will_ find out,’ Donnic said, with more conviction than he felt. But he had to support his friend. ‘We _will_ find her. Don’t doubt that.’ He got rewarded with one of Fenris’s very rare touches. The elf squeezed the hand lying on his arm and even went as far as giving him a pained smile.

‘Thank you,’ he murmured.

Varric rubbed his face. He looked a whole less determined than a few hours before. At this moment he couldn’t take even pleasure in the fact he bossed the Carta and Coterie around. It had been of no use; Hawke still wasn’t found. ‘The Docks, yes, Donnic. Not the ships.’ He shot the others a brittle smile. ‘Sorry, Anders, but in my opinion Fenris has a valid point.’ He sighed. ‘So it looks like we have yet to take up another task.’  

The elf had already exited the suite before the last words were uttered. Closely followed by Donnic.

-

The only thing they managed to do, was leaving a trail of startled and infuriated ship captains, scattered and distressed deckhands and tons of upside down turned cargo. They didn’t discover one Tevinter ship, or any Tevinter native at all, let alone a magister. And, worse, not a sliver of information about Hawke’s whereabouts. Finally, around the dawn of a new morning, the day before First Day, the harbourmaster, alarmed by the increasing amount of complaining people storming into his office, put an end to their drastic endeavour. Varric had to promise to send over a cask of first class rum to let the peace return, but even so the confusion and irritation lasted for quite a while. Although, fair is fair, ultimately the ruckus changed character and turned into an early First Day party with lots of fraternizing and new friendships. And again due to ... well, let’s call it some thoughtless behaviour.

-

‘This is just brilliant,’ Aveline groused while they were walking through Lowtown with nothing achieved but causing a turmoil in the harbour. ‘Bran will have my hide for this. I bet I will receive a very special First Day present this year.’

‘I didn’t know you exchanged First Day presents with the Seneschal, Aveline,’ Merrill chirped. ‘That’s so sweet. I thought you two didn’t get along, but I suppose that’s the real spirit of...’

Her voice trailed off when she saw Aveline’s face: blank but with a not to misunderstand hint at murder. The message wasn’t hard to get, not even for her so often fuddled mind. ‘I got it wrong again, didn’t I,’ she mumbled meekly to Sebastian, who was walking next to her.

The Chantry brother smiled reassuringly back. ‘That doesn’t matter, Merrill. It’s the positive thought that counts.’

The Guard Captain rolled her eyes and could but just refrain from giving a snappy remark.

‘I told you it was an idiotic idea,’ Anders said with badly hidden triumph.

‘Shut up,’ Donnic warned him. He could simply _feel_ the dangerous glow in Fenris’s eyes and he fervently wanted to prevent bloodshed. Although, on the other hand, he had a hard time not to punch the mage in the face. If only on Fenris’s behalf.

‘And what do we do now?’ Isabela asked. She felt completely worn out. ‘It’s past noon by now and we haven’t found a clue whatsoever.’

‘I don’t know about you lot, but I’m going to try to catch some hours of sleep after a sleepless night,’ Varric replied, while he stomped angrily along the streets of Lowtown as if he wanted to punish the cobblestones for the mess. ‘I suggest we will meet again at the Hanged Man around six bells this evening. Hawke has to be somewhere; we just haven’t thought of the right spot yet.’

They all agreed, though somewhat reluctantly, some more than others, and went their own way for the time being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But, of cource, Fenris isn't pleased at all and somthing, finally, will trigger his mind.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally Fenris allows his brain to work properly...
> 
> Warning: sex (nothing too explicit.)
> 
> Enjoy!

A Wild-Goose Carol part four

-

Highly irritated Fenris slammed the front door of his mansion shut and ascended the stairs to the living room in what could be called the mother of all foul moods. He put his sword in the weapon rack with such incensed force that the construction toppled over but he didn’t pay attention to the loud clanking. He removed his breastplate, pauldrons and gauntlets and tossed the pieces unceremoniously on the table. All the while he kept grumbling to himself, or rather to an audience that wasn’t present. Angry words larded with colourful Tevene curses. Get some hours of sleep. Yeah right. _Venhedis_! Like he would succeed in simply lying down on his bed, closing his eyes and drifting off. Idiot dwarf with his ludicrous ideas. Randomly he kicked at a ball of paper, still scattered about on the floor. _Fasta_ _vass_!

He grabbed the iron poker and aggravated thrust into the dying fire. Where the hell could she be?! He poked some more and with more viciousness until the fire roared once again. ‘ _Festis bei umo canavarum_!’ he growled at the flames. Enthusiastically they growled something unintelligibly back, certainly heated but without passion. ‘ _Kaffas_!!’ he spat in return, admittedly with impotent fury. A whole cartload of frustrations was put into that one word. ‘ _Vishante_ _kaffas_ ,’ he added for good order. But it didn’t help to lighten his dark mood. He got consumed with worry and no swearword in the world could remedy that. _Vashedan_ , he tried nevertheless, when Tevene failed him and he shouted the first Qunlat profanity that came to mind.

He was so scared she had done something utterly silly, so scared they would find her body months from now, washed ashore somewhere at the Wounded Coast. So scared some dangerous psychopath had abducted her and did, right now, unspeakable things to her... All kinds of gruesome scenarios swirled through his mind and it drove him crazy.

Abruptly he dropped the poker and decided to fetch a bottle of wine to pass the empty hours of waiting with. With any luck it would help to sort his thoughts and to take away the edge of his powerless anger and fear that led to nothing constructive. To prevent he would completely go out of his mind. Without much gusto he shuffled downstairs to the cellar. He was halfway the spacious hall when he suddenly held still and frowned.

Cellar. Varric had mentioned looking in cellars.

Finally it struck him. And it hit him with the force of a sock filled with wet sand. _You utter blind and thick-headed moron_. _You knew! You bloody knew!_

He spun on his heels, dashed though the front door and started running, paying no attention whatsoever to the people who hastily had to jump out of his way for dear life. He never heard their angry shouts; he never got aware of the string of bruised persons and vulgarities he left in his wake. Only minutes later he banged like a madman on the entrance to the Amell estate.

 Bodahn opened the door and cried out in surprise, ‘Messere! Have you found her?’

Without an answer Fenris pushed the steward aside and raced to the kitchen.

-

Hawke had completely lost track of time and didn’t know whether it was day or night. It didn’t matter anyhow. She still hadn’t located that (in the meantime grown mythical) stock of candles and feared by now Bodahn had taken them upstairs. Probably to set the house on fire. Thus she had been forced to sit most of the time in complete darkness. How long had she been locked up by now? Hours? Days? Why, for the Maker’s sake, didn’t any of the servants need to come down here? Because everything required for the First Day festivities had already been stored in the pantry, she thought sourly. Everything except for the exquisite port she had recently discovered at her favourite vintner, and she per se had wanted to serve with the sweet cakes and hearty Orlesian cheeses at the end of the First Day dinner.

With a pang of regret she realised Bodahn and Orana must be beside themselves with worry by now. She had passed the stages of fear, melancholy and self-pity and was now entering the phase of desperation. It looked like she had to spend the most wonderful time of the year all alone in pitch darkness. And that her friends and servants would spend it worrying about what had happened to her. For the first time in her life she wished she were a mage, so she could burn that stubborn piece of a blighted door down or blow it to splinters. Or, preferably, to sawdust. She bit back tears of frustration.

-

And then a sudden broad beam of light abruptly blinded her. She lifted her hand to cover her eyes and scrambled onto her feet. ‘Bodahn ..?’ she said hesitantly. ‘Is that you? The wedge, think about the wedge. It - ’ She didn’t get the chance to finish her sentence.

Because the next moment she felt a pair of strong arms around her, embracing her so hard that it almost pushed the wind out of her lungs.

‘Marian,’ a well-known and much longed for low husky voice stuttered, ‘Marian, love, I was so scared something terrible had befallen you.’ She heard a taking in of a deep shuddering breath. ‘I should have known you were trapped in here. I knew about the blasted door. I knew about the wedge. I should have come sooner.’

_Fenris_

With a sob of relief she clung onto him. He pulled her frame even closer to his and buried his face in her hair. She could feel how his heart beat powerfully through both their clothes and realised he wore no armour. The significance didn’t even get through to her, not at this very moment.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispered.

‘Sorry?’ she said bewildered, with difficulty stifling another snivel. ‘You’re sorry for rescuing me?’ After all the time spent alone in the dark with nothing but her depressing thoughts to keep her company, she wasn’t able to think clearly.

Fenris let out a rather shivering chortle. ‘No! Of course not!’ He seemed to sob himself this time. And then he broke into what seemed to be some kind of grand apology and a mea culpa all in one. Uttered in one long breath. ‘I’m sorry for leaving you three years ago, for being such a fool and coward. I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for the awful words I hurled at you recently. You of all people didn’t deserve that. I behaved like an utmost jackass. Both times. For what it’s worth, I didn’t mean what I shouted. I really didn’t. I was just afraid. And upset. And I never meant to leave you back then. I just – I just got dragged away by those wretched memories. They ruined everything. I _let_ them ruin everything. I was an idiot.’

Having spilled all his pent-up emotions, together with the last of his breath, he nervously awaited her reaction.

‘I know,’ Hawke whispered after a few heartbeats. And only then his use of her given name and the additive “love” hit home. She couldn’t help starting to cry.

Fenris heaved his head and framed her face with his hands. ‘Did I say something wrong?’ he asked anxiously.

‘You said “love”,’ Marian sniffed.

‘Yes,’ he said seriously, ‘and I meant it. I meant it with whole my heart.’ He bit his lip and tenderly wiped away the tears on her cheeks with the pad of his thumbs. ‘Can you forgive me?’

She gave him a fragile but warm smile. ‘There’s nothing to forgive. I understand.’ She added with a moist little laugh, ‘I understood back then, although, no, it was not easy, and I understand right now.’

His face was close and his beautiful silvery green eyes bore into hers. ‘Will you still have me?’ he silently asked.

His hypnotizing warm voice travelled along her body and nestled in her stomach, causing all kinds of very pleasant commotions along the way. Tenderly she touched his face. ‘Do you really have to ask?’

And all his worries fled.

Without thinking any further, as if his mind was capable of producing a single coherent thought at all at this moment, he let lips descend on hers and he felt a thrill going through his system at the soft touch. At the memory so unexpectedly turning into reality. She threw her arms around his neck and waist and responded to his kiss with almost frantic passion. Their tongues entangled in a heated dance, as if they both desperately tried to quench their thirst for each other, as if they wanted to make up for the wasted years within mere moments. When she pulled away to take a gulp of air she mumbled, ‘Don’t you even _think_ of letting go off me.’

‘I wouldn’t dare,’ he replied hoarsely and attacked her mouth for a second time. His head started spinning when he again tasted her and it got in full through to him he was really holding the body he had dreamed about for so many times. The body of the woman he loved. Her hands slipped under his shirt to wander over his naked skin and with a shiver he tightened his grip on her behind.

‘Marian,’ he murmured helplessly, ‘I yearn so much for you.’

‘Then don’t hold back. Please don’t hold back.’ To emphasize her desire for him she almost tore his shirt in her haste to get it off him. Driven by impulse and longing, she rubbed her heated centre against his fast hardening member and his breath hitched.

In response he simply ripped apart the finery she wore to get access to her wonderful breasts as fast as possible. ‘You’re so beautiful,’ he panted. ‘All those years, those stupid squandered lonely years –‘

‘Let’s make up for them, starting right now,’ she interrupted him before he could lose himself in useless remorse. She easily persuaded him by reaching into his leggings and closing her hand challengingly around his firm standing length. Her fingers stroked him with unwavering want and he writhed at the touch, letting out a deep lustful moan. She whispered into his sensitive ear, ‘You may have yearned for me, my love, but you don’t know half how much _I_ have yearned for _you_.’ The dark, desperate hours definitely lay behind her, right now. The bright beam of light had turned into an allegory. A promise of happiness.

She couldn’t possibly give him more encouragement. He pushed her against the wall and with trembling, though determined fingers got rid of her smallclothes by simply shredding them to pieces. Eagerly she threw her legs around him while he lifted her and with a guttural groan he entered her. He breathed her name in excitement when he drowned in her.

He closed his eyes and started moving. At first slow, with ecstasy drinking in all the soft moaning sounds she made, feeling the wet heat that surrounded him and sucked him in, deeper, constantly deeper, until he couldn’t take it any longer and he didn’t even want to restrain himself any more. He pounded ferociously into her embracing sheath. Suddenly he heard her cry out his name and at the same time felt her clamp around him. Her fingers dug into his shoulders while she kept whimpering his name in her seemingly everlasting release. And then a mighty orgasm took hold of him. He poured all of his love and endured fears and desire for her in one mighty outburst.

When it was over he sank with trembling knees on the floor, taking her with him, still connected to her, holding her fiercely. He thought his lungs would burst. ‘I love you,’ he uttered, struggling for breath. ‘My Marian, my sweet, wonderful Marian, I love you so much.’ He had never felt more fulfilled, thankful and at the same time more shaken in his whole life. He realised that the distress about her vanishing had taken even more toll of his nerves that he had already thought. And that was not all.  Now, with his plea for forgiveness and his declaration of love, he had given her all of his soul, all of his essence. He felt emotionally naked and utterly vulnerable. He had put his whole life in her hands. At this moment she could snap him like a twig.

Suddenly he went afraid. He had tossed his sister aside; the sister he had longed for, simply to feel the meaning of family. He had accepted he would never feel that meaning. At least, not if Marian didn’t agree to be some kind of family to him. In fact, he reasoned, with an industrial of not frantic working part of his brain, she _was_ his family, his only family. That was, as long as he had understood right that family meant the persons you loved, the ones closest to you. But he understood so little of it. He sighed deeply. He knew he shouldn’t be afraid for her reaction but, nevertheless, he was. It turned out he indeed shouldn’t have fretted.

She held on to him as if he was her life saviour which, at this moment, pretty much was the case. ‘And I love you,’ she wept, ‘you mean everything to me.’ And then a shakily laugh escaped her. ‘Look at me, one moment utterly desperate, the next moment the happiest woman in Thedas.’ And after that, as if she had read his mind, she said to his exalted astonishment, ‘You’re the only family that is left to me. That is, if you will stay with me.’ She burst into tears and at the same time into laughter.

He laughed with her and kissed her and made love to her again. ‘I will always stay with you,’ he managed to state somewhere in between.

After what seemed a long time later, he said with a deep, content sounding groan, suddenly remembering why they were making love in the cellar, of all places, ‘I kicked the wedge under the door. Don’t fear you will be cooped up in here any longer.’ The fact they could have had curious visitors or an inquisitive public never had crossed his thoughts. On the other hand, in his exalted mood he couldn´t care less. And, deep down, he had counted on Bodahn’s courtesy and moderation.

With a moist chuckle she responded, ‘As if I would mind being cooped with _you_ in here!’

As a matter of fact, after Fenris had pulled it off to lead her to her bedroom, stared after by a very understanding, very relieved and, most of all, very grateful and happy Bodahn, they made love several times over in her comfortable soft bed until they were utterly spent and utterly satisfied. And had lost all sense of time.

-

‘Yes, she is at home and no, you can’t see her.’ Bodahn stubbornly kept his foot down. With just his eyes he challenged the other dwarf to make a try at entering the house and storming the first floor. And he particularly looked the human mage behind Varric’s back straight in the face with an extremely dark scowl. He knew about the man’s grating persistently attempts to conquer the heart of the Lady of the Manor. They might have been in vain, they had been annoying nevertheless, to say the least about it. Bodahn might not wield an axe, his expression said it would be just a matter of seconds before he would produce such weapon and not only to threaten, but also to behead him with it.

With a hardly concealed smile Varric heaved his hands. ‘Wow! Calm down Bodahn! We’re just here to make certain the Champion has indeed been found and no harm has come to her.’

The steward tried to hide the broad grin that fought its way to his face. ‘She is perfectly alright.’ And now he absolutely couldn’t suppress that grin. ‘More than alright, I believe. And don’t worry, the First Day festivities that were arranged for this night in this house will go on as planned. We, that is Messere Hawke, Messere Fenris,’ (he accentuated that last name with again a dark look at the present mage) ‘and the staff expect you to arrive around seven bells. We’re looking forward to it.’ With that he pushed the door shut.

Behind him Varric heard Anders grunt loudly. He clapped him on the lower back, which was approximately as high as he could reach. ‘Come on, buddy, you know you couldn’t win this fight. And what were you thinking anyway, with that demanding and sourly, er, spirit in your head. That one wouldn’t have approved.’

‘No,’ Anders sighed, ‘you probably are right.’

‘Of course I am. Now go home, get dressed properly and make a nice evening out of it. It’s First Day. Time for peace on earth and brave but impossible to fulfil resolutions and all that kind of things.’

-

They woke up in a puzzle of limbs and in a rosy cloud of happiness. Fenris heaved his head to look at Marian’s glowing face that was half hidden behind a mass of tousled hair. She smiled at him. ‘I suppose I look as ridiculously happy as you do.’

He smiled back and tenderly kissed the top of her nose. ‘I indeed hope so.’ His look turned meditatively. ‘You talked about family.’ He gave her lopsided smile. ‘And _I_ thought about it. But you know more about the subject than I do. I must confess I don’t understand much of it. But I can’t deny it’s important to me.’

Marian giggled softly. ‘It must be, if it’s your pressing topic to start the day with.’ She pulled him in her arms and murmured against his chest, ‘I have no relatives left, besides Uncle Gamlen, who is more like some grumpy, faint acquaintance who only pays a visit when he needs money. But that doesn’t mean I have no family.’ She looked up at him and smiled brightly. ‘I consider Varric family, my brother in fact. Well, some kind of a brother anyway. A strange one, admittedly, but still. And Aveline has always been like a sister to me.’ She softly kissed his skin. ‘I know Donnic is a dear friend to you, perhaps even your best friend.’

Fenris nodded. ‘That’s true. But does that make him family?’

Hawke sat up and he followed her, immediately drawing her into his arms because he wanted to feel as much of her as possible. She settled against his frame and laid her head upon his shoulder. ‘In a way it does,’ she said. ‘I’ve always thought a family is formed out of the people you care about, not per definition the ones you are saddled with through birth.’ She tilted her head and grinned mischievously. ‘I don’t bear warm feelings for said dear Uncle Gamlen, for instance, although he is my mother’s brother. I do, however, love Varric and Aveline and, well, all of our friends. And the wonderful and unique persons who share this house with me.’ She lightly tapped his lovely straight elven nose with a finger. ‘And I love you. And you’re definitely no family by blood. Thankfully.’ She smiled again. ‘But the feelings for my friends and their mutual feelings for me make them family.’

Fenris caressed her shoulders and back while he pondered that. It was, after all, a subject he wasn’t very – ha ha – familiar with. He stooped over her and gently kissed her. ‘We, of course, can always start our own family.’

He left her completely stupefied while he, inwardly grinning broadly, left the bed to leave her to stew in her bafflement for the moment. ‘How about a warm bath before breakfast? Though lunch might be a better word, I suspect.’ He looked at the muffled white light streaming through the closed curtains. Muffled and at the same time bright light. He frowned. He walked over to the window, pulled the soft velvet cloth aside and stared at a, for Kirkwall, rather exceptional view. He turned to Marian who still was searching for her voice.

‘It’s snowing. Happy First Day, my love.’

Hawke jumped out of bed and joined him at the window. She put her arm around his waist while she leant her head against his shoulder. Together they looked at the snowflakes that peacefully descended on the city.

‘And happy First Day to you,’ she sighed with sparkling eyes and in utter contentment.

Fenris mused there couldn’t have been a more appropriate holiday for their reuniting.

First Day. A new start. The first day of their future together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this short story; I had much fun writing it. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Merry Holidays and a very happy New Year to all of you!

**Author's Note:**

> In fact, this short story is dedicated to Fenris. About how he finally shakes off his shackles and learns about the value of love and family. After all, this is a Christmas tale.
> 
> I can only hope you'll appreciate it.
> 
> Anyhow, thank you for reading!


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